Spirited
by Astrid Goes For A Spin
Summary: Spirited to Berk, a land of monsters and Vikings and only nightmares, Salin fears she won't ever see Piper again, the only family the little girl has left. She just has to trust in God to give her wings to fly back to England again.
1. Chapter 1

**A few historical notes: Vikings, in truth, did not actually wear horned helmets. However, I am too much in love with the idea of helmets, especially since Toothless retrieved Hiccup's. Helmets stay.**

**The (unfortunately) _fictional_ island of Berk is (was) probably near Denmark, and most of the tribes raided English towns and took back prisoners for slaves. All of the tribes had important people, normal people, and slaves, which anyone could sell themselves into if they needed money. However, I did not actually _see _any 'slaves' on Berk, and so I have respect for the Vikings of Berk that they did _not_ have slaves. But they're in quite a tight spot usually, so any extra fighters would most likely be welcomed.**

**There actually was a meeting between tribes every two years or so called the Thing (which I thought was fictional, but apparently it is truthful) where they made descisions and everything. It was a very early form of democracy. **

**Hmn...I think that's everything... oh, wait. If you possibly think I _might _even be plaigarising, you don't have any idea of my character from my stories. If I was to plaigarise, I would make sure to take the content from someone who can _spell_ the darned word, unlike myself. And one last bit: if I owned How To Train Your Dragon or even ancient England, I think I would have better things to do than while away my life writing about them. Salin and Piper, dears, however, are mine. **

**Feel free to PM me since I love this history stuff...and Berk. If you have an idea or suggestion, I'll try to work it in, along with Vikingish names. [Wow, I can't beleive I'm actually saying this]. Names are my weakness. Okay... I'm wrapping it up... enjoy. Reviews are love. PMs are better. Read on!**

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><p>We'd hardly begun to hear of the Viking raids before we were raided ourselves.<p>

I was taken in by a Catholic woman by the name of Mary when my mother died of fever. I was eight. The sister of a priest, she was a kind lady who cared for I and my youngest sister Piper. My eldest, Sarah, had left to try to support us, although since women were often disrespected she was only able to send a few coins every year. My father had left when Peter, my youngest brother died of an earlier illness. And the oldest of all of us, Trey, had disappeared. He had gone, unable to bear the responsibility of everyone needing him to survive.

It wasn't uncommon, only unusual. We were alone.

The prayers had faded from _help me protect Piper from losing everyone like I did_ to a nightly ritual pleading to be spared by God. We lived nearer the north in what they call England now than most, and in result increasingly common names in our parish were mentioned, and we would pray for their strength as they recovered from grievous physical wounds, and the far more scarring internal wounds of the heart as they adopted to life without loved ones.

I never imagined how my simple life would take a drastic turn: that my small family would be ripped apart, strewn over Scandinavia, and pieced together once again a thousand times stronger by the feared Northmen in my fevered prayers.

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><p>Berk was such a small town that hardly any social heigherarchy existed. Basically, there was the Chief, the craftsmen, and the warriors. Basically they were all equal.<p>

It was too small to have slaves, although other tribes would sometimes raid and capture places like small English towns for sport and bring back laborers for those of too pseudo import. By order of the Thing Berk didn't have slaves: its small economy would suffer if they had. Everyone did their own work, and in need were helped – it was a smooth society and functioned honestly.

Fighters were the most important, but only because they protected the slim amount of others. Killing a dragon was the way to win glory from eliminating another threat. It was work, a way of life, no more.

Berk village didn't tolerate slaves because they tried to be fair and true. Sometimes if there were some that another tribe didn't want, because of sickness or spunk, they would adopt them, take them in, infusing their culture and eagerly accepting anyone who was tough enough to make it there as a fighter.

That's what happened to me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ah, for the purposes of this story we must pretend that everyone speaks the same language. Sadly, they didn't, but since this isn't going to be a New York Times Best Seller, I don't mind twisting history too much. **

**Never fear, Salin will get to Berk soon. Enough. Stick with me, she'll end up there in the next chapter, which I write as I...write? Still. It's a work in progress. =) **

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><p>The morning had started like any other, hearing the rooster crow and dressing in the semidarkness.<p>

I drag a coarse dress over my head, tousling the dark waves.

"Salin?" Piper's small voice cuts through the quiet of the cold morning. "Help me dress?"

I help her out of bed. Ever fragile, she seems always to be cold and I do all I can to make sure she won't catch sick.

Her copper hair shines as I wrap a thick blue cloak around her shoulders.

Suddenly, she looks up, very fast, snappish. "What is it?" I whisper, bending down and cupping her chin.

"Nothing." Her voice is worried. She is seven now, and should not have to know the fears of the world. "I just thought I heard something."

_That's not nothing_, I think to myself, but hold it back. "Well, it's good you didn't," I say, guiding her out of the room.

Then I hear a scream.

It's a woman's scream, long, unbroken, of pure terror. A warning. _They're here! _The woman's voice breaks as she shrieks, in fear, agony, or both, and suddenly it is cut off, stopped as quickly as it started.

I wrap my hand around Piper's mouth and she whimpers and then I'm pushing her down the wooden slats of the stairs, glad we hadn't put on our shoes. Her grey eyes open as wide as they can, showing whites all around.

"Shh, shh," I say, sounding strangled even to myself. "Come on!" She's too slow, her feet and legs often ache of cold in the morning. I scoop her up, and she clamps her tiny arms around my neck.

She's light as anything and I clench her to my chest and run down to the cellar.

It's cool and earthy and pitch black. I would go back for Mary, but we have instructions never to get her in a Viking raid. We are to protect ourselves.

I drop Piper as soon as we're underground, bolting the thick wooden door shut and piling crates against it. "Get in the barrel!" I hiss, lifting her again and instructing her to bend her knees. She fits with no problem and I strike a stone against the wall, lighting a candle.

"No matter what happens, stay here," I order, then slam the candleholder down haphazardly, like it was left on by accident, close the top of the barrel and lay on the floor, feigning sleep. "No matter what you see or what you hear, you have to stay in the barrel."

My heartbeat quickens. We probably won't survive. This is routine, sometimes. There are not so many raids the cellar is a second home, but familiar and safe.

My head is resting against my arm, my hair splayed around me. I don't want to risk getting up to fix it, and even my skirts have risen up.

_Oh God, spare me. Please. I have to take care of Piper. She won't live long without me. Spare me, O Lord. I can't leave her. She won't make it. She's lost so much already, don't rip us apart too._

This goes on for hours, it feels like. I almost drift to sleep when the sounds move closer to the house.

There are metal sounds above the ceiling, like swords being drawn or someone sharpening an axe. Then footsteps stomp directly above us.

"Whet deh ya thenk is under ther?" hoarse voices discuss this point and my breath freezes in my chest. I can't give myself away.

"P'ro'bly jus' storege," another voice agrees.

"Or treasure," one says seriously, which elicits a round of laughter. _And you've never thought who might be listening._

"We sho'ld check, anyway. Could be people in ther."

"'S no' lik'ly. We sho' go. No'bdy hidin'll be mch use."

"W'll, I'm l'king."

I quiet, still and silent. Piper's panicked breathing breaks through the haze of fear I myself feel, and suddenly I know what to do. I have to protect her at any cost.

Carefully, I get up, gather my skirts, pat down my hair, and slip out the door to the cellar as if I'd only gone down for breakfast cheese.

The Vikings are tromping around upstairs, and I open the trapdoor slowly, sedately, attempting for distracted.

There are four of them. They are much scarier than the stories have portrayed them to be. Huge, shining helmets with horns spiraling out, freakish, voluminous beards, tunics of mail, garish, painted shields, axes, knives and swords. They freeze. As do I.

"What are you doing in my house?" I ask this with such superiority they look affronted.

"Bag 'er."

From there it is so unreal I can't believe it is happening to me. Two of them rush toward me, and I can hardly raise a hand to defend myself before my wrists are behind my back and someone's shoved a gag over my mouth.

"Mmmmmmmmmm!" My scream is muffled through the fabric. I buck and writhe, trying to break free.

The men are shocked to have a fighter. Quickly, with muscles of steel they hold my arms and legs together, and I'm swinging between them. If my skirts were hanging open like this usually I would have been mortified, but I'm blindsighted with anger and fear and adrenaline from protecting Piper.

All the energy drains out of my body and I moan lowly, and one of the men ties a blindfold over my eyes. I can't see where I'm going, only that I am being born on men who wish to take me from my home, and I can do nothing about it.

A tear leaks out, but I blink it away furiously. This is no time to be weak.

When we get onto the ship, my stomach rolls, but I'm hanging between two Vikings upright now. I lean forward, moaning quietly. I have never been near the water, and I feel sick.

I want to retch, and one of the men actually removes my gag and blindfold so I can throw up over the side.

It's only bile, since I've had nothing to eat. Tears rush out of my eyes at the way it burns my throat, and I feel my teeth, trying to rinse the taste away.

Someone hands me a waterskin, and I drink from it gratefully, the cool water rushing past my tongue.

Then I look up.

I have no idea where I am, no way to get my bearings. The landscape is different from what I know. We're miles away from anywhere I've ever been. I can't save her. I'm never going to escape. They'll never let me go.

I'm on the strangest ship I've ever seen, wooden completely, smooth and fast and narrow, a mighty painted dragon prow. I have to say it's well constructed, silent and effective in its purposes. So effective I'll never see home again.

Piper's probably dead by now, and I'm bound on a vessel of the sea.

"Where are you taking me?" my voice is low and scratchy.

There is some quick, harried conversation I can't understand due to the heavy speaking and accents. Shortly, one man finally says as clearly as he can manage, "'ome."


	3. Chapter 3

**Finally, Salin arrives at Berk! Hope you like it, review please! **

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><p>The hours meld together and the sky grows dark. I'm sitting in the back of the Viking ship, my hands tied behind my back, my mouth gratefully free so I don't become even more sick.<p>

The first night is rough, trying to become serene enough for sleep on the rocking waves. The next day is tedious. And then they all come together until life is just a whirl of color, sound, and fear.

I can't say how many days passed or could have passed while the Vikings rowed me to their 'home'. But every day my trepidation grew larger and I felt even more angry. I would not submit. They would not get their way. I was stronger than that.

Occasionally something would nudge against the boat, or a ripple of fins would be spotted in the water, causing nervous mutterings to erupt between them, and they would all grip the hilts of their weapons until the shadows faded into the deep.

Soon, their deep, guttural speech began to make sense, and they would lull me with their words and stories.

Something they were especially fond of was tales of dragons and fights and wars between barbarians and beasts. Dragons, it seemed, were a fundament of their culture. Fighting was sport, and life itself. As interesting the stories were to listen to, they couldn't be real. They couldn't be.

The faithful have nothing to fear. I repeated this to myself over and over while the tales of fights and battles and daring escapades floated over me, washing away hopes and emotion.

Thus it is with half-closed eyes and a sedate demeanor when they finally toss me ashore. I make a noise of protest as I hit the heavy, rock-strewn ground. By now, my dress is faded and tattered, and it provides poor protection for the cold.

My hair tears at my face because of the sharp wind, but as I stagger up, a small, sticky gash on my cheek stinging as I scream wordlessly, and the Vikings only laugh. And laugh, and then, they sail away. Whatever would Mary think of me now, even if she was alive. Which I don't know. I push it out of my mind. I need to focus on survival for now, so one day I can go back and get Piper.

"We'll come back in a week!" shouts one.

"See if you'll be a bit more acquiescent by then!"

Anger makes my head spin round, and, gathering my meager strength, I set off for the opposite side of the island.

I can't ignore how beautiful it is. Even as the soles of my bare feet hit the stony ground, I'm in awe of the surroundings. The mountains tower high above me, and the grass is wet and waves in ripples. The dirt is black and soft and rich, and would be marvelous for farming, but somehow, I don't think the people who live on this island are very agricultural, if the Vikings that captured me are anything to set a standard to. The trees are majestic and strong, and I feel out of place.

The only way to survive the night will be to keep going. My muscles, already stiff and sore from not moving for a long, timeless journey, begin to pound and throb with every step. My stomach has pains like stabbing knives every few seconds because of my lack of food, and my joints feel as if they could shatter.

Eventually I know I'll have to sleep and remove my bonds, so, finding a large outcropping of rock, because there is an abundance of them on this wild island, and saw, wrists bleeding, backwards as skillfully as I can.

_Snap! Snap! Snap!_ The fibers of the ropes, taught, disconnect and I wrench my arms free. Aching, I rub each in turn until the pain dulls some. The cold air and earth numb my suffering a little, and I wrap what's left of my dress around me.

I'll probably starve, if I don't freeze to death tonight. As the sun falls the air steadily chills until I'm shivering and blowing on my hands to keep me warm. As it is, I know the temperature will get to me, even as my feelings begin to ebb and warmth steals over me, my eyelids drooping, leaning against the icy stone, perfectly knowledgeable that I am at the mercy of anything, now. Helpless.

Then, against all of my will, I fall asleep, without even the strength to pray for wakefulness.


End file.
